


Territory Worth the Time

by Ael_tRlailiiu



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-27
Updated: 2015-03-27
Packaged: 2018-03-19 21:41:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3625218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ael_tRlailiiu/pseuds/Ael_tRlailiiu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Was "Homecoming" on Tumblr.) Fluffy smut post-"Poor Unfortunate Soul" for scribblecat27's birthday bash!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Territory Worth the Time

  


"Fill my heart with darkness? What the hell does that even mean?" Emma's fear always came out as anger. Shadows jerked across the deck as the harbor lights fell on her frustrated pacing, her gestures.

"I don't bloody well know. That was all she could tell me." Killian slouched at the aft rail and watched her, his expression grim.

"He's always one--no he's always _twelve_ steps ahead of us. How are we supposed to beat this guy?" She slumped next to him, arms folded over her chest. She had left her jacket in the car, hurried along by his words. _There's something I need to tell you, and we absolutely must not be overheard_. The _Jolly Roger_ had seemed their best bet for security. "Turning love into a goddamn weapon, where do we even start?!"

"Swan." He could fit more into that word than her parents did in a whole speech about hope.

"I know. I know, just... being -- being targeted like this is kind of freaking me out." She leaned against his shoulder, pulled his arm around her, not just for warmth. "For all we know, that's exactly what he wants. Are we sure that was really Ursula you were talking to?"

"Unless the Crocodile has learned to sing, aye, it was her."

“I'm sorry I missed hearing her.” For a while they stood silently. Little night waves slapped the side of the ship. On shore, the lights began to wink out as businesses closed for the day. Life went on in Storybrooke. "What if it works," Emma blurted. "I mean, I've done some pretty crappy things in my life. I lied, I stole, I punched people a lot. I was...." She hesitated. "I was so _angry_ , for so long."

"Aye, well, I wouldn't know anything about that." He spoke distractedly; Emma peered around him and caught sight of his hand stroking along the rail.

"No, of course not." She nudged her shoulder against him and smiled despite herself. The day had not been without its good points. She couldn't keep the expression long. "But like you said, it can be... easy to slip. And who knows what he'll come up with."

"Whatever it is, I am certain you will be equal to it."

"What if I'm not? What if I do this--whatever it is he wants me to do?" Her hand tightened on his arm, saying the things she was afraid to say.

"Whatever you do, wherever you go, I will go also. As long as you want me to." He laid his hand over hers. “And fretting over what we can't know only plays into his hands. If I've learned anything from dealing with that soulless creature, it's that keeping a clear head is vital.”

Emma pulled in a deep breath and nodded. “Good point.” She did her best to relax and looked up, trying to send away the tension in her shoulders. “Clear night. Haven't had many of those lately.” Not the first time they had lingered together out in the quiet with the stars, unwilling to go home, to part, but it felt different here, with the ship's motion under her.

“What's wrong?” Killian asked, feeling her startled motion.

“Nothing.” Emma took mental inventory of her handbag and relaxed again. “Just thinking that it must be nice to have her back.”

“It is.”

“Everything looks okay? You already got your stuff from Granny's?”

“Aye, and went over every inch of her. I'll never have any love for Blackbeard, but he kept her fair enough.”

“That's good.” Emma waited—she could depend on Killian to be quick on the uptake, most days—fighting a giveaway grin until she felt him shift against her as the same realization hit: they didn't have to go home. They were home already, with many yards of open air between them and land, and a mile at least between them and parents and children and sharp-eared werewolves, and the blush still on her cheeks from his words that afternoon. Her panic had gone. No Dark One, no dragon, _no one_ would take this away from her, or from him. “You know, all the times I've been on this ship, I don't think I ever got a proper tour.” She turned from the rail to stand facing him, so that his left arm slid naturally around her shoulder. Her right hand moved his down to her waist.

“An unconscionable lapse on my part,” he murmured. “Where would you like to begin?”

“Where do you think.” The kiss started the same way the last one had, without the tears but still with that transfixing joy. That even a day like this contained perfect instants, bright as diamond or the distant stars, that was the thing to hold onto. She broke off to look Killian in the eyes and found him grinning. Options flitted through her mind—pity the night wasn't warmer—don't make any jokes about “down below”—was he sure, was she sure, of course she was.

“I am given to understand this world requires certain precautions...?”

“Who have you been—never mind. Tell me later. I've got them.” She stepped back and tugged him toward the gangway, smiling. All was dark on the lower deck. She let Killian take the lead. The ship creaked a little, singing to herself maybe, maybe pleased to be back in waters she knew, with her captain where he should be. Emma heard glass clink against metal. A match flared and dimmed above the central table. Emma blinked. The uncertain bloom of light steadied as Killian replaced the lamp's shield. Its warm glow moved with the ship, stroked the gold and brasswork, the polished wood, the covers of old books.

The past weeks had brimmed with stolen moments. Little contacts had brightened greetings, soothed partings, touches of lips and tongues, of hands on hearts and shoulders and cheeks. She found no awkwardness in kissing him now. Something to be said for taking things slowly, perhaps? But he had been easy in her arms from the very beginning, ready to follow wherever she led.

Emma pressed forward against the promise in his mouth, suddenly fierce. Killian had found time somewhere in the day to change clothes after his dousing. His hair still smelled of the sea. She twined her hands through it, reveled in the luxury of time, kissed him breathless again and again. The hook's cool curve pressed into the small of her back, his hand cradling the back of her head. An anticipatory shiver took hold.

“Not cold, are you?” Killian asked.

“No. You've got blankets here anyway, right?” She nuzzled along his jaw, nipped at his ear and felt his shaky exhalation against her neck.

“Indeed.” He reached behind him to pat the edge of the bunk. “Fresh linen, in case it had crossed your mind to wonder.”

“I figured.” Emma grinned. Fastidious pirate.

“If I may?”

Curious, she allowed him to guide her through a turn that ended with her on the edge of the bed. She set her bag down there, within easy reach for later. His gaze remained locked on hers as he knelt down to remove her boots and stroke her legs. Even through the cloth, she could feel the warmth.

“Are we taking turns?” she asked.

“If you like.” A note of restraint entered his voice; he looked down.

“Hey.” She leaned down and took his hand. “If you'd rather wait—”

Killian shook his head and met her eyes again. That defenseless look undid her every time, had threatened to do so right from the start. No wonder she'd been afraid. She had taken down all of her own fences now, too, laid aside her weapons. She let him finish her footwear, then tugged at his jacket to bring him up closer to her.

“Can't have you getting too far ahead of me.” She slipped it down over his shoulders, appreciating the lines thus revealed to the lamplight.

“One moment.” He twisted the hook free and set it on the shelf. Emma could see the faint worn spot it had left there over the years. She finished with the jacket and started on his buttons, alternating vest with the shirt underneath, pressed her mouth the hollow of his throat and then down along the path her hands opened. If she detoured now and then to map more precisely the lineaments of his body, to double the lines of his necklace with her teeth, to test the grain of his skin beneath her mouth, the shifting muscles that responded so to her touch—she thought the territory worth the time. She looked up and saw the hint of a smile around Killian's mouth, but his breathing told her she was having an effect. When she reached the last button, he ran his hand up her arm. A suggestion of pressure shifted her to one side and down.

Just like that. She laughed, paused just long enough to wriggle out of her sweater, and then let herself be guided. Her head touched the pillow; his mouth came down against hers, an eager rush that slowed and lingered. Emma shifted, tightened her hands on his hips and pulled him closer with an impatient sound that made him chuckle. The whisper of cloth and zippers gave way to the quieter slip of his mouth on her breast, his hand in leisurely exploration under the last remaining scrap of her clothes. Emma bit her lip.

He noticed. “No one can hear us, love.”

“Just you.” She wound two fingers through the chain of his necklace and gave it a tug, pulled his mouth back to hers so he could _feel_ her moan. He dipped into her at last, just a little; Emma gasped and pressed her hips up. Her awareness fragmented—tongues hard and slick against one another, the brush of his hair over her tightened nipples, his thumb pressing on her clit as he slipped his finger deeper. She tightened her hold on the chain, skimmed her other hand down his side and across the arch of his hipbone to find him heavy and hard, velvet at her touch. Next time she would taste him. Killian pressed into her hand with an urgent little sound that undid any hope of patience on her part. She growled when he drew his hand away to work her underwear off.

That left one thing. He took hold of her hand and placed it over the first of the buckles that held the hook's brace in position. If she flinched, he would pretend he hadn't noticed. She didn't. She unfastened the contrivance and slid it away, careful of the grooves the old leather had pressed into his skin, and the scars. The lamplight turned them golden. Nothing else remained, bar the practiced tearing of foil and his bemused expression at the unfamiliar sensation of the condom. She kept her eyes open as she guided him, saw him shape her name without breath to speak it and only then gave herself up completely. She wanted this to last, knew that it couldn't, didn't try to slow it down. Locked to one another, urged on by the cradling sea, need outraced need.

_love you love you love_

She thought or heard or said it—said something, in between panting breaths and kisses that took and gave in equal measure until she lost all her words in a shuddering cry. Greedy and unabashed, she sucked at his tongue, shifted her hips to bring him even deeper, splayed her hands over his back wide as she could.

“Emma....”

She tightened her hold in place of replying, let the fierceness of her wanting speak for her—the need she could seldom put words to, the trust that shook her bones to contemplate. She kept with him through the rising arc, the fall that left him shattered in her arms. He rained endearments and kisses on her until she laughed and kissed him back, deeply.

“You know, half of that didn't make any sense.”

“Of course it did. Everything I say makes sense.” He moved to the side, and she turned to stay facing him. The bed, Emma had noted, was not particularly wide.

“You are... amazing,” she said.

“Mere reflected glory, if any. But the night is young.” He brushed the hair back over her shoulder and stroked the back of her neck.

She arched like a cat. “I like the direction this is going.” Morning might bring anything at all—news from Regina or August, or some move from their enemies. “Who knows when we'll get another chance.”

“All the more reason.”

“Worth the wait?”

“Worth a lifetime.”

He used his mouth later, those incandescent blue eyes fixed on hers the while, his tongue drawing sounds from her she didn't know she could make. They might have heard her on shore, after all. She returned the favor until he cursed and drew her away. She came again straddling him, her hair a golden curtain that trapped the light, his name tumbling from her lips.

Some time later, Emma managed to say, “See? Amazing.”

“Nonsense.” Killian leaned over the side of the bed and pulled a blanket out from one of the compartments below.

“Amazing nonsense. You don't mind if I stay?” Sated and sleepy as she felt, she would have drifted off with no covering and probably woken up cold.

“What a ridiculous question. I concede only in the interests of seeing you get some rest before morning.”

“Wise move.” She hesitated.

“What is it?”

“Just wondering what we'll find when we wake up in the morning... but you know what?” Emma shook her head. “Not going to worry about it. Happiness is what this is all about. So I'm just... going to be happy.” She gave him an uncertain look.

“Entirely.” He smiled and got up to turn the lamp's wick down, then settled beside her once more. “Good night, love.”

Drifting in the darkness, content, she might have heard a mermaid singing in some other sea.


End file.
